Handwriting
by evitamockingbird
Summary: Mrs. Patmore challenges Mrs. Hughes one evening shortly before Valentine's Day. Will she accept the challenge and tell Mr. Carson how she feels about him? Born of a prompt from chelsie-anon on Tumblr. Perhaps a little silly, but since the prompt includes Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes giggling over glasses of port, some silliness is presumably allowable.


**This little story grew out of a prompt from chelsie-anon on Tumblr. I'm afraid it's a little silly, but I guess if the prompt includes Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes giggling over glasses of port I am allowed a little silliness. :-) I hope you enjoy.**

**_"You know he will never make the first move." said Beryl over a late night glass of port. "If you don't want to be sat in that parlor of yours, discussing Lady Mary and Mr. George, on Valentines Day, you'll have to take that bull-headed butler by the horns!" Elsie smiled as she remembered their fit of giggles, but Beryl was right. If ever he was to be shifted off his davit of propriety, it would fall to her. Leaving him busy with the staff Valentines, she put her plan into motion. What happens next?_**

Of course she would not do what Mrs. Patmore suggested, not in the way the cook meant, at least. But she did have plans for Valentine's Day and they did involve Mr. Carson. She would not brazenly throw herself at him or try to force him into declaring himself. Although Mrs. Patmore had dropped hints, first subtly and then quite audaciously, Mrs. Hughes was not so confident that he was, in fact, in love with her, as the cook insisted. It was also within the realm of possibility that he did love her, but was not actually aware of it himself. He was an intelligent man, even sensitive most of the time, but he could occasionally be incredibly obtuse.

She didn't dare work on it in plain view, so that evening she retired early. She skipped her evening sherry with Mr. Carson, but she made sure to wish him good night and exchange a little friendly chat with him at his pantry door before going up, pleading fatigue. She had her supplies in order and it wouldn't take very long to do what she needed to do here. The second and more difficult part of her plan would be executed tomorrow. It would require a little stealth on her part, but she was looking forward to it. She felt like a mischievous girl, planning an elaborate prank.

She changed into her nightdress and settled in her bed with a book, several sheets of paper, and a pencil she had found discarded in the servants' hall this morning. She rested the book on her knee, creating a makeshift desk. She never used a pencil, nor did she normally write with her left hand, but that's just what she was going to do now, by the light of the hand lamp on her night table. She had burned her right hand once on the stove many years ago, and had learned to do most of her usual tasks, including writing, with her left hand, until the wound had healed. She had never gotten very good at it, but her handwriting was legible. It was rather messy, nothing like the way she properly wrote, but that made it perfect for her scheme. Once she set pencil to paper her plan was in motion. It was risky, but she had made up her mind to go forward.

#####

Valentine's Day wasn't very different from any other day downstairs, with the exception of the festivities at dinner. Mr. Carson had enlisted Anna and Mr. Bates and a few others to help him with the staff Valentines. He had asked Mrs. Hughes to help, but she was too busy that day. She was not too busy, however, to hear him grumbling about the whole thing, wondering whose damn fool idea it had been and wondering why he had the responsibility for taking care of it. But the task was finished in time for dinner and when the servants came to dinner from various corners of the house, each one found a little card with a brief message in it. _Hope your day is full of smiles_ or_ Best Valentine wishes_ or other meaningless nonsense. There were a few exceptions, of course; some of the Valentines were more personal. Anna and Mr. Bates kept their cards to themselves, so Mrs. Hughes could only imagine what they might say. When she got to her seat for dinner, she opened her own card. It both pleased and disappointed her. _ You love and care for everyone in the house. This day must have been created just for you. Hope your day is full of love_, Anna had written. It was a very sweet message, but a small part of her had hoped that Mr. Carson would have written her Valentine himself rather than delegating it to Anna. Oh well.

As was often the case, Mr. Carson was the last person to the table and they all sat down when he did. The dinner was nothing special by upstairs standards, but Mrs. Patmore had worked a little extra magic for the staff festivities, and the atmosphere was merry.

"How did dinner go upstairs?" Mrs. Hughes asked Mr. Carson, before taking her first bite of dinner.

"Oh, as well as may be expected. The dowager was in fine form with a few choice remarks, but Mrs. Crawley still isn't herself, so I'm afraid they fell on deaf ears," he answered.

Mrs. Hughes frowned. "Never tell me the dowager was picking on poor Mrs. Crawley!"

"Honestly, I think she was trying to draw the poor woman out of herself," he mused. "Her comments were much gentler than usual."

"Oh well, I suppose only time will heal her wound," Mrs. Hughes said, shaking her head.

Mr. Carson nodded. "If anything can."

"Mr. Carson, aren't you going to open your Valentine?" she said, gesturing to the little card beside his plate.

"I suppose I must." He rolled his eyes a bit and picked it up.

"Yes, you must," she answered laughingly. "I'm sure Anna's worked very hard on it."

Mr. Carson opened the card and within a few seconds he stuffed it into his coat pocket and applied himself very studiously to the task of eating his dinner. Mrs. Hughes noticed that the tips of his ears had gone quite red.

"Mr. Carson, is anything the matter?" she asked.

"No, no, I'm fine. Everything's fine," he said hurriedly, not looking at her.

"Did Anna write something embarrassing in your Valentine card?" she teased.

Mr. Carson looked up at her abruptly. "Certainly not!" he said indignantly.

She couldn't help laughing at him. "Calm down, Mr. Carson. I know Anna better than to suspect such a thing. It's only you looked a bit disconcerted after reading your card."

His face relaxed, although he still looked uncomfortable. He didn't answer, only looked at her, his eyes flicking over her features, and she found herself holding her breath. A moment later he looked away to reach for his glass. "It was nothing. I just thought of something I'd forgotten to do earlier. I'll take care of it after dinner. Nothing to worry about."

Mrs. Hughes was a little flustered. She knew what the note said, and wondered if his words had anything to do with the note, or if he were just trying to put an end to her teasing.

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes, I wonder if you'd like to join me in my pantry later tonight for a drink," he said smoothly, taking her by surprise. "These youngsters will be making merry and I thought we could perhaps escape their frivolity together."

"Certainly," she answered. "I'd be happy to join you."

#####

There were not many merrymakers left in the servants' hall by the time Mrs. Hughes made her way to Mr. Carson's pantry. A few were out in the yard, and the rest had gone to bed. It was quite late, after all. She knocked and then let herself into the pantry, where she found Mr. Carson with his back to the door, occupied with something. She had just closed the door when she was startled by a loud noise, and Mr. Carson turned around to face her, an open bottle of champagne in his hand.

"Ah, Mrs. Hughes," he said with a smile. "I was about to come looking for you."

"Champagne?" she asked. "My, my." Her breath came quickly and her nerves danced. So far he was responding to her little plan as she had hoped, but the end result had yet to be determined. Success seemed very likely, but she was still not on solid ground.

"It's always wine or sherry for us," he said. "Why not have a little treat tonight?"

She smiled. "So we're to escape the frivolity of those youngsters with a little champagne toast?"

"Sit down," he said, shooing her toward the two armchairs. Two empty champagne glasses were waiting on the little table between them. She followed his instruction and sat as he poured two glasses, first one for her, then his own.

"Here's to health and happiness," he said, raising his glass as he took a seat.

"To health and happiness," she repeated, and they both sipped. "It's good. Very good. I hope you haven't taken this from his lordship's private supply."

"As if I would," he scoffed, in mock indignation. "A butler has his resources."

"Yes, I suppose he does. Just as a housekeeper has hers."

"Of that I have no doubt," Mr. Carson answered, looking thoughtful. "Actually, perhaps you can use your resources to help me with a little mystery."

"A mystery?"

"Yes, I think I may be the victim of a little joke and I'm hoping you can help me get to the bottom of it." He suddenly looked a bit uncomfortable, much like he had after opening his Valentine at the table a few hours earlier.

"All right, then. Tell me what's happened," she said.

He put down his glass and pulled a handful of paper out of his coat pocket. "I received several rather strange notes today." He handed her two folded slips of paper. "These two were stuck in my desk drawer and the silver cabinet, as though someone had tried to stuff them through the locked door but didn't quite succeed."

She opened the notes. One said, in an almost unreadable scrawl, _You love her_. The other read, _She loves you_. Mrs. Hughes looked up at Mr. Carson with a perplexed expression on her face. "She?"

He tugged at his collar a little as he carefully handed her a third note.

_The sound of her jingling keys makes your heart beat faster._

Her eyes flew to his face. "Well!" she exclaimed. "That's clear enough, isn't it?"

"What do you make of it?" he asked, studying her face.

"I should tell you, Mr. Carson, that I received some rather odd notes myself, and in the same writing as these."

"Really!" he said, surprised. "And what did they say?"

She reached in her pocket and pulled a two slips of paper out and handed them to him.

_You love him._

_He loves you._

"Well, this is a day of surprises, isn't it, Mrs. Hughes?"

"I think someone in the house is making mischief." She gave him a smile, small, but open.

"That seems the likeliest answer." He smiled back, looking a little bemused.

Mrs. Hughes paused before speaking carefully. "Well, I suppose we _have_ worked together for a long time, and we do care for one another. It's not entirely preposterous that someone might get such an idea, although I do still think the notes are quite odd. I hope you don't find it too embarrassing that someone in the house thinks such a thing."

Mr. Carson studied the glass in his hands as he formed the sentences in his mind before he spoke them. "Well, I do hope that whoever it is does not plan on telling tales to anyone and everyone who will listen, but I would not say it is_ embarrassing_, Mrs. Hughes. I _am_ very fond of you." He did not look at her while he was speaking, but after a few seconds he almost timidly slid his eyes up to her face, waiting to see how she reacted.

The uncharacteristically shy look in his eyes told her all she needed to know. Mrs. Patmore was right that she would have to make the first move, but she would not need to 'take that bull-headed butler by the horns.' No, gentleness would serve her much better. "My mind has been at work all day, Mr. Carson, trying to think who might be behind the notes," she said, her eyes on him. "I spent some time wondering if this person knew or saw something I didn't, or if the person just liked to tease or stir." She looked off to the side for a moment, biting her lip, before her eyes returned to his. "It made me wonder if...if there was any truth in them."

He didn't say anything, only kept his eyes on her, waiting.

She began to rummage in her pocket and brought out another note, which she opened and read again. "I'm beginning to think the person is right, though," she said, handing him the note.

_He'll serve you champagne tonight._

Mr. Carson smiled and immediately rummaged in his pocket for another note, which he passed to her.

_Invite her to your pantry for champagne._

Their eyes met, and they both knew everything. That shared gaze was full of so many things. Love, longing, joy, relief. They would speak the words out loud, she knew, but that glance had removed all fear and hesitation. Mrs. Hughes got up from her chair and came to stand in front of Mr. Carson. She took another note out of her pocket and looked at it before handing it to him. She smiled and blushed, feeling like a young girl again.

_Kiss him._

He passed her another note. "The Valentine I received at dinner."

_Kiss her._

She reached out and caressed his cheek with her hand before bending to kiss him. It was a sweet, tender kiss that warmed her from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. She pulled away, stood back up, and opened her eyes to find him looking at her with a gleam in his eye that was vaguely predatory. He took her hand, pulled her into his lap, and kissed her again. This kiss was not so sweet and not so tender, but much warmer. Her arms wound around his neck and he pulled her close as they lost themselves in one another.

"So who do you think knows?" Mr. Carson said, when they finally came up for breath. "Who is responsible for the mysterious notes?"

"Well, I would almost suspect Mrs. Patmore," she answered. "She's been dropping hints for ages that you're keen on me. But I know it wasn't her."

"No," he said. "That's definitely not her handwriting. Though I couldn't point you to the person in this house who writes like a six-year-old child."

"That's not what I meant, Charles," she said, getting up from his lap and walking over to his desk. She pulled the pencil from her pocket, found a sheet of paper, and began to write.

"What did you mean then?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

Mrs. Hughes said nothing, only gave him a sly smile and folded up the piece of paper.

"How_ do_ you know Mrs. Patmore didn't write the notes?"

She got up from the desk and returned to sit in his lap, placing the paper in his hand and watching his face. He unfolded it and read the short message, written in the same barely legible writing as the strange, anonymous notes.

_Because I wrote them myself._

His eyebrows rose in shock and his mouth dropped open. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his chest, her shoulders shaking with laughter at his comical expression. After a few moments, he dropped the note and pulled her close. She heard him chuckling in her ear.

"I do love you, Elsie," he said.

"I love you, too, Charles," she answered.

"Did you receive any other notes, Elsie?" he asked. She could hear the smile in his voice.

"Just one more."

"And what did it say?"

"That I'm to tell you how heavenly you smell."

"Not quite as heavenly as you do, dear," he said. He began dropping little kisses on her neck, starting at the collar of her dress and moving up toward her ear. His hand found her ankle and slowly crept up her leg. There was very little conversation for the rest of the night.

#####

The next morning Mrs. Patmore cornered Mrs. Hughes in her sitting room after breakfast. Mrs. Hughes had expected no less. In fact, she was almost surprised that Mrs. Patmore had waited that long, rather than shaking her awake at four o'clock in the morning to demand an account of herself.

"I can see you're walking on air, Mrs. Hughes, so don't try to deny it," she said with a knowing grin.

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "I won't deny it, Mrs. Patmore. That would be foolish. I'm very happy."

"You took my advice, didn't you? You finally made a move and he admitted how he felt about you." She paused and lowered her voice to a whisper. "You told him you loved him, didn't you?"

"I did, but you may be surprised to hear that he said it first," Mrs. Hughes said.

Mrs. Patmore narrowed her eyes at her friend. "Elsie Hughes, I know there is more to the story than that. You must have done something. What happened last night?"

The housekeeper smiled mischievously. "I'll never tell."

"Yes, you will! You can't just-"

"Mrs. Patmore," Mrs. Hughes interrupted, holding up her hand. "I am a very busy woman and have no time for this foolishness," she said with mock haughtiness. "I really must be going." And she swept almost regally out of her sitting room, down the passage, and up the stairs.

Mrs. Patmore stared after her, a disgruntled expression on her face. Before long, however, her lips curved into a smile, and she left the room and headed back to the kitchen, chuckling to herself. She looked forward to teasing Mr. Carson later in the day. He might prove more communicative than Mrs. Hughes. He was a hopeless liar, after all, wasn't he?

_The End._


End file.
